


The One Where Clint is Natasha's Weakness

by JinxQuickfoot



Series: Weaknesses [18]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Black Widow (Movie 2020), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Natasha Romanov, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Black Widow - Freeform, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Hawkeye - Freeform, Hostage Situations, Hurt Clint Barton, POV Natasha Romanov, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxQuickfoot/pseuds/JinxQuickfoot
Summary: Sleep, her body urged her. You can’t hold out forever. Sleep.But Natasha couldn’t sleep. Not while that shard of glass was pressed against Clint’s throat.----------------------------------------------------------------------------Natasha ends up in an impossible stand-off with a Russian assassin and Clint's life hangs on her ability to stake awake.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov
Series: Weaknesses [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672462
Comments: 18
Kudos: 119
Collections: Weaknesses





	The One Where Clint is Natasha's Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Day 18 of the "Weaknesses" challenge
> 
> [Come say hi on Tumblr - I take requests!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jinxquickfoot)

Natasha Romanoff just wanted to sleep.

She had been feeling it now for the past hour; the heaviness behind her eyes that was threatening to overtake her, the continued effort to keep her chin from hitting her chest. Her hands were shaking with the effort of holding the gun aloft, her shoulders aching from being wedged up against the rubble, spasms running through her muscles as they cramped from being in the same position for so long.

_Sleep_ , her body urged her. _You can’t hold out forever. Sleep._

But Natasha couldn’t sleep. Not while that shard of glass was pressed against Clint’s throat.

The mission that had led them here had faded into a blur; the past indecipherable, the future inconsiderable. There was only the present, only the single goal in Natasha’s mind. _Don’t let Clint die._

She vaguely recalled a message from Fury -"Baba Yaga is coming for you” - followed by her insistence that she would take them out before they could get to her, which was followed by Clint’s insistence that she wasn’t going alone.

The Baba Yaga. A group of extremist assassins who was trained to lock onto their targets like bloodhounds. Nothing mattered except their target’s death - not rest, not recovery, not their own lives. And this one’s target was Black Widow.

He had been clever, hiding a bomb in a deconsecrated church before he lured her and Clint inside and detonated it, attempting to take them all out in one fell swoop. But he hadn’t - Clint’s sharp eyes had seen it in time, had pushed her out of the way, shielding her with his own body and taking most of the damage himself.

The move had left him exposed to the assassin as the church imploded around them. Now they lay under the wreckage, buried in a pocket of air, locked in a standoff. Natasha couldn’t shoot the Baba Yaga without him killing Clint. The Baba Yaga couldn’t kill Clint without Natasha killing him, thereby failing his mission. Natasha knew there was no bargaining to be done, nothing she could offer this man for her best friend’s life. All that was left was to see who would let their guard down first.

That had been thirty-two hours ago.

_Sleep,_ that tiny voice whispered to Natasha again.

_Shut up,_ she told it, trying not to show the Baba Yaga that she was wavering. He certainly wasn’t. His fixed expression hadn’t moved a muscle.

_He’s trained for this,_ that voice continued. _One fixed goal. He’ll outlast you._

_He won’t._

_Shoot him._

_He’ll kill Clint._

_Shoot him or you both die._

Natasha knew it was the logical choice, learned from so many hours of training. If it’s the choice between two agents in the field or one - choose the one. If it’s the choice between an agent and the enemy - kill the enemy. If it’s a choice between you or another agent - choose yourself. 

But this wasn’t just an agent. This was Clint.

Natasha’s stomach had plummeted when she had first seen Clint’s condition after the explosion. One leg was broken; one shoulder dislocated. There was a scary amount of blood covering one side of his face, but the wound it had come from was small and had stopped bleeding. The Baba Yaga would snarl and dig the shard of stained glass he was using as a weapon into Clint’s neck whenever the archer tried to talk to Natasha, so they had been communicating in their own way, subtle moves of the eyes and the fingers and the lips that only they understood.

He had told her to take the shot. He had told her many times now.

_I won’t._

The Avengers had come; of course they had. When the communication earpiece had been dropped down to her, Natasha thought she was hallucinating. She was so tired. Then she heard Steve’s voice crackling from the tiny device.

“Romanoff? We’re here to help. Pick up.”

_Help?_

Not moving her eyes or gun off the Baba Yaga, Natasha retrieved the earpiece.

“Steve?”

“Good to hear your voice, Nat. We’re getting you out. Hold on.”

She heard the grumbling of machines, the whir of Tony’s thrusters, and the Baba Yaga snarled and then there was blood trickling onto Clint’s chest.

“Steve! Stop!”

A shouted order and the sounds of machinery halted.

“Natasha? What’s going on?”

“I’m not down here alone,” she whispered, not breaking eye contact with the assassin. His eyes are an off-putting dull yellow in his sallow face, more reptile than human. Or was that just her sleep-deprived brain seeing things?

“Is Clint with you?”

“Yes.”

There was a nasty pause, then Steve asked, “Alive?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered, her voice hoarse.

“Hurt?”

Natasha closed her eyes, just for a moment. Questions. Why was he asking so many questions…

“Natasha!”

Steve’s voice in her ear jerked her back awake and Natasha panicked, realising how close she’d come without even realising to…

Clint. Right. Steve didn’t know.

“There’s an assassin down here with me with a blade to Clint’s throat,” Natasha explained. The jolt of adrenaline from what she had nearly done had been enough to give her a second wind. “If you come down here, he’s going to kill him.”

There was a long exhale from the other end of the comms. “And you?”

“Holding a gun on him.”

“Nat…”

“I can outlast him, Steve. Stay back - I got this.” _I got this._

“How can we help?”

“Just keep me awake.”

So they had. They took it in one-hour shifts, talking to her, yelling her name when she didn’t respond fast enough, keeping her company as she fought to keep her eyes open. Thor regaled her with of tales from Asgard, his voice loud and full of optimism. Bruce gave her problems to solve, basic maths and riddles and word games, but it was enough to keep her mind occupied, enough to stop it drifting into unconsciousness. Tony blasted his music though the comms, and she decided that if she didn’t hate AC/DC before this, she did now, and maybe also it was her favourite band, and she didn’t know anymore, and everything was hazy and foggy and-  


“Nat?”

Steve’s turn again. Natasha shook her head. That precious second wind was long past. She looked down at Clint, whose own eyes were still open, despite his injuries, staying awake with her in solidarity, pushing through this with her, reminding her she wasn’t alone.

“Steve?”

“What do you need?”

Her head was so heavy. “Tony. I need Tony.”

Tony was on the comms in an instant. “Because I’m your favourite right? I knew it.”

“Tony…I need…”

The playfulness was immediately gone from Tony’s voice. “Nat? Whatever you need, you have it.”

_Whatever you need._ She needed…needed…

So tired.

Her eyes found Clint’s, only barely processing the series of signals he sent her way.

_I love you. Take the shot._

Then his eyes closed, and he was unconscious. The Baba Yaga noticed and grinned at Natasha, his teeth as yellow as his eyes, a forked tongue flickering between his teeth.

No. That wasn’t right. She was seeing things. An old Russian horror story…

_Baba Yaga come at night_

_Little children sleepy tight…_

“Romanoff!”

Tony’s voice in her ear jerked her back. “I’m awake,” she whispered. “I’m here.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“No sleep,” she breathed. “Can’t…can’t sleep. Tony…”

“Yeah, ok. I got it. No sleeping. I’ll keep you up.”

“Tony…” She didn’t want to say it, not with the assassin so close, not when he could hear every word. But she needed Stark to understand, needed him to know how close she was to giving out.

“I can’t,” she said into the comms, and the Baba Yaga’s grin turned wolfish. He pulled the unconscious Clint more securely into his lap, arranging the archer so Clint was covering most of the assassin’s body. Even with the close range, that made for a difficult kill shot even if she wasn’t exhausted. “I can’t…so make me…”

She heard Tony’s sharp exhale of breath. “Are you asking for what I think you’re asking for?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“You’re asking me to basically torture you, you know that right?”

“I’m asking you to save Clint.”

“Ok. Ok. Fuck. Fine. Here we go.”

So tired. Her eyelids were so heavy…

The high pitched shriek that started in her ear yanked her out of unconsciousness. Her instinctive move was to yank the comm out of her ear, only remembering in the nick of time that she had asked for this, that this was necessary. She met the Baba Yaga with a piercing glare, and his eyes were no longer yellow, his tongue was no longer forked - he was just a man. A man who, for the first time, had started to look afraid.

He could hear the high pitch whine, knew what she was doing, but it wasn’t loud enough to keep him awake as well as her. She couldn’t sleep, not with the awful noise pounding into her brain - no, pounding was the wrong word. _Slicing_ into her brain. Her head was already starting to throb, a splitting headache forming, but she didn’t take the comm out, didn’t break her eyes from the Baba Yaga, and didn’t stop thinking of Clint.

She could do this. For Clint, she had to do this.

She didn’t know how long she let the ringing keep her rooted in consciousness. It felt like an eternity, every ounce of pain and exhaustion stretching on for millennia.

The shard of glass at Clint’s throat wavered.

From the first tremble in the assassin’s hand, Natasha knew she had won. She grit her teeth and readied her gun.

And finally, at long last, the Baba Yaga’s eyes closed, and he slumped forward, the shard of glass clattering into Clint’s lap.

Natasha was immediately moving. Her lunge forward was enough to startle the assassin back to consciousness, making a grab for Clint, but Natasha shoved her teammate out of harm’s way and then there was a bullet between the Baba Yaga’s eyes.

The ringing stopped. She heard voices, panicked, demanding, but she didn’t care. She lay down next to Clint, burying her head into his chest as, at last, she allowed herself to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look at that. My writer's brain was kind to me today and gave me a one-shot.
> 
> So hey, I have this film and screenwriting podcast? It's called "Kill the Cat" and once a month my co-host and I and break down one of our favourite movies or tv shows and look at why they work, including Harry Potter, The Princess Bride, Brooklyn Nine-Nine and, of course, the MCU.
> 
> You can check it out on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ypaen3yM5Q&t=1s&ab_channel=KilltheCatPodcast), [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/show/5hCprc9UCBZP4srFrBXKT1?si=ZOqdhMlVQvqV2fG5PxuvOA), or anywhere you listen to podcasts. 
> 
> And hey. You're doing great.


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